


Hellebore: One Night Sonata

by kai of the wild (nakamoon)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Classical Musicians, Gen, Johnny-centric, Violinist Johnny, Written for NCT Fleur Zine!, friendship!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25455424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakamoon/pseuds/kai%20of%20the%20wild
Summary: Johnny’s a prodigy, a one-of-a-kind genius! His violin was made to play for the gods. Simply divine! Or so people like to say.Because right now, no Brahms, no Paganini, no Bach feels divine. Johnny just feels - disconnected. And no amount of music can change that.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten & Suh Youngho | Johnny, Lee Taeyong & Suh Youngho | Johnny, Seo Youngho | Johnny & Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung
Comments: 15
Kudos: 48





	Hellebore: One Night Sonata

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! So I participated on the NCT Fleur Zine and I chose Johnny as my darling, flowery muse. As is natural. You will be able to find this story and many others (as well as beautiful art) in the digital and physical copy of the zine!!
> 
> So, while the story isn’t inherently romantic and it’s definitely Gen... I’m begging you, read between the very homosexual undertones and tell me which little Johnny ship you liked most.
> 
> Thank you to our Zine moderator for being ever-gracious, to my fellow writers and artists - we did well! As well as the best betas, Sam and Erica, who helped beta this really quickly ;; thank you my loves!

༄

A soft melody can be heard in a tiny room at the Chicago Symphony Center, right in the corner of the practice hallway, hidden from anyone who would dare peek their eyes in.

The song is loud and odd, jumping from place to place, but it is, to anyone with a musical ear, undoubtedly magnificent. More than magnificent; a virtuoso must be behind such a practiced bow.

The sound of strings against his bow resonate through the mostly empty room. The deep sounds soon turn high, reaching a peak. They try to reach at Johnny like strings attached to his heart, pulling, pulling, _pulling_ _—_

The music stops.

“Fuck,” he hisses, the bow and strings pulling away from each other, breaking the melody. “I can’t do it.”

Johnny stands up, blowing his chestnut hair away from his face, tired. “It sounds horrible.”

“It wasn’t bad,” the sole spectator in the room speaks up, an unsure tone dripping from his voice, “It sounds perfectly fine.”

“ _Perfectly fine_ doesn’t cut it, Jaehyun,” Johnny frowns, already packing his instrument inside an expensive fiberglass case. Just right for his Stradivarius. “This isn’t supposed to be perfectly fine. The concert is tomorrow night.”

Jaehyun sighs, “It sounds amazing, I swear it does. It just doesn’t _—_ sound as amazing as Johnny Seo usually does.”

“I’m losing it,” he says with determination, “I’m losing my talent.”

“Don’t be dramatic, you’re not losing anything.” Jaehyun walks behind him as Johnny puts on a hoodie, his practice finished, “The concert’s gonna be amazing, Johnny, trust me.You’re twenty-five, you’re at your best right now.”

“Well,” he huffs out, already in a bad mood. “It doesn’t seem like it. Might as well die if I can’t play anymore.”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes, opening his mouth, but before he can retort, a newcomer speaks up.

“Sounds about right,” Kim Doyoung says, raising a single, gloating eyebrow. “Spoken like a true musician, Johnny.”

“Yes, well I didn’t ask you,” Johnny says, not sparing Doyoung more than a single glance.

“What are you playing for the concert?” It's a simple enough question made by a not-so simple man.

Johnny stays quiet, twisting his mouth in annoyance at his fellow violinist.

“He’s doing Ysaye’s Sonata No. 3.” Jaehyun says, breaking the tension as he always tries to do. Without him, Doyoung and Johnny would’ve thrown punches at each other already. At least Johnny would’ve done so, Doyoung would’ve complained about a bloody nose and done everything in his power to kick Johnny out of the orchestra.

“ _Huh,_ ” Doyoung muses, “You’ve never really been a crowd pleaser, I suppose. Sonata No. 3… fits you.”

“That’s enough, Doyoung,” Jaehyun sighs with a warning.

“No, he’s right.” Johnny widens his eyes, as fake as can be, “What are you doing for _your_ solo, Doyoung? Ah, that’s right. Dance of the Goblins. How very Doyoung, ready to please the crowd with fast fingers and empty music. I guess we truly pick the songs in our heart.”

Doyoung seethes but Johnny doesn’t want to listen to him anymore than he needs to, scurrying past the door, zipping up his hoodie and strapping his violin to his back, walking the hallways he’s known for three years like the back of his hand.

Truth is, Johnny concedes to himself as he walks through the backdoor, the February winds hitting his face, Doyoung manages to crawl under his skin. Mostly because Doyoung is the only person who can talk to Chicago’s Violinist Darling, Johnny Seo, in such a derisive manner. Johnny is second chair, Doyoung is first chair, has been so for the past year after dear Music Director had thought he was better than Johnny. Oh, _hail the great genius violinist from South Korea, Kim Doyoung_. Johnny doesn't remember him being this presumptuous back in summer camp all those years ago.

He’s not jealous. Why would he be jealous? He doesn’t mind if he’s second to Doyoung or if Doyoung’s pretentious ass thinks he’s better than Johnny. He’s been living in intense competition amongst overachiever genius musicians since he was seven years old, enough time to have gone through childhood trauma and expensive therapy.

So it’s not that he’s jealous of Doyoung, there's nothing to be jealous of! Johnny _knows_ it is not talent that he’s lacking, it's just—

Doyoung isn't a spiraling mess, at least not like Johnny. He plays with passion and energy and melancholy and all those inner workings and composure that a musician needs. Johnny, just as he told Jaehyun, has lost it. He’s lost the connection that he very much worked for over nearly twenty years. The strings call for Johnny, but he simply isn’t answering.

The walk to his apartment isn’t long, but right now, maybe Johnny needs a breath of fresh air, even the thought of going back home and opening his case again sounds painfully dreadful. Instead, he turns to Jackson street, his feet taking him to nowhere and everywhere.

The wind is getting colder, although Johnny supposes it’s not as freezing as downtown Chicago can get during the month of February. The streets, while not too busy, still bustle with life, small groups of people walking from there to here even though the sun will start setting down soon. Johnny walks with no aim, looking around at impressive buildings and random stores he’s never paid much attention before, despite living his whole life in this grey-skied city.

It’s in the middle of this wandering of the eyes, that Johnny sees a potted sunflower. It catches his attention because, against the gloomy background of Chicago, the flower stands proud, its yellow petals demanding praise. Next to the sunflower pot, a bouquet of pink peonies is displayed, more subtle than its neighbor, yet just as lovely. It’s a flower shop, Johnny realizes, a tiny little thing stuck in between two concrete buildings, just a bit out-of-place.

With nothing to do and on a whim, Johnny decides to go in.

He shouldn’t have been too surprised to find the place packed with flowers and pots, a warm scent of dirt and mist permeating in the air. But really, it’s almost too much: he can’t see the surface of anything but the floor, all counters covered in different types of bouquets and pots.

He touches the tip of a rose’s petal, the flower bouncing lightly.

“May I help you?” a voice says, making Johnny jump, his violin case shaking with him.

He turns around and Johnny finds himself face to face with an unblinking man with pink hair.

“I was just… looking around,” Johnny mumbles, putting his hand back in his pocket.

“Oh? Anything in specific?” the man smiles, walking around the counter to step closer to Johnny. 

“Uh,” is all Johnny can say. “Not really. Your flowers… they're pretty.”

He laughs, amused. Johnny looks at the name tag on his apron. _Taeyong :)_

“Thank you, I’m glad it shows,” Taeyong simply says.

Johnny nods, looking around. His eyes are glued to an orange flower right next to Taeyong, its petals long and spindly. He doesn't find much appeal in it but the flower is flashy, even amongst other bright colors.

Taeyong follows his eyes. “That's a chrysanthemum,” he explains. “We got them in white and yellow too, do you want to see them?”

“Crisantemi,” Johnny murmurs instead without much thought. When Taeyong looks back at him in question, he shakes his head, “It’s a song. By Puccini. I just—got reminded of it.”

Of course he remembers it, he spent quite a few weeks working on it for a quartet presentation two years ago. He had liked learning it, even if he was stuck with Doyoung every day trying to practice. In the end, the audience had loved it, their applause thunderous, just as he was used to.

“Is it a sad song?” Taeyong asks back, splashing the chrysanthemums with a small water bottle.

He thinks back to the violin and viola strings, slow and sorrowful. “Yes. It’s about death. The composer wrote it after the death of Duke Savoy. How did you know?”

Taeyong shrugs easily, “Chrysanthemums are used for funerals in a lot of countries. In Korea they symbolize grief. Pretty straightforward title.” He eyes Johnny’s case, “You know music. Are you a musician?”

Johnny nods, “I’m a violinist.” He offers Taeyong a hand to shake, “Johnny Seo.”

Taeyong doesn’t react to the name, only shakes Johnny’s hand back, a bit of dirt in between his fingers, “Taeyong Lee.” It’s not like Johnny is a household name, but he’s gotten used to hanging around connoisseurs who recognize a name instantly, like a shark smelling blood.

“An artist then,” Taeyong nods with approval, “You must have an eye for flowers.”

“I know nothing about flowers.”

“I stand corrected, you must have a heart for flowers. The heart of an artist always knows,” hums Taeyong with a smile, too certain of words that Johnny finds nothing more than amusing. “They're all similar, in my opinion. Art, music, _flowers._ ”

“I don’t know about that,” Johnny says, moving to let Taeyong water all the flowers in his path. It goes unsaid, but Johnny cannot even begin to comprehend how a flimsy, simple flower can be anything like an overture or a sonata. Playing the violin is not easy. It’s exhausting, it’s hell.

“It’s a language. You tell a story every time you play your instrument, do you not?” Taeyong cuts the stems from a peony bouquet. “Well, I think I do the same with arrangements.”

“I guess we’re going to have to disagree.”

Taeyong turns around, squinting his eyes, “Are you any good at least? Playing that thing on your back?”

Johnny muses, then exhales. “Not really. Maybe?”

“Oh,” Taeyong sounds surprised, “You sounded pretentious by the way you talked, I assumed you were good.”

There’s a pause. Johnny snorts out a laugh, “I’m not bad. I just—” He thinks over his words, trying to express whatever he’s been feeling these past few months, even before Doyoung got chosen as first chair. “I can’t connect with the music. Something’s holding me back.” It’s, in a way, cathartic. He knows nothing about this meddlesome flower-man and perhaps that's the reason why Johnny lets it all out at once. It was hard to explain to Jaehyun, to his music director - to everyone. “I just want to play perfectly, like I used to. _God,_ I just want to play like I used to. And my violin knows it, you know? Every time I try to play - it just doesn’t sound right.”

Taeyong stares at his case for a few seconds, then back at him.

"I have a concert tomorrow night," he scratches his head, "And I know I'm gonna suck just like I've done so in the past few days. And I don't know if after this I can handle everyone's pitiful glances again. So. I guess I'm just feeling kind of shitty. And I don't know why I'm telling you all this, I’ll shut up now.”

Taeyong's eyebrows dip, a laughing smile on his lips - it's not mocking, however, and Johnny can tell. "You're ok, Johnny." He stays pensive for a few seconds and Johnny can feel his ears and face grow pink the more he realizes how embarrassing this situation is.

"You should check out Madison Street tonight," Taeyong finally says. When Johnny gives him a curious glance, he continues, "There's buskers there all the time. Singers, spoken word poets, dancers."

"Yeah?" He's still confused but doesn't voice anything else.

"You might even see a violinist or two. _But,"_ he jumps, turning to splash his flowers, "I recommend you go to the intersection with Kedzie. Just in front of a café. My friend performs there every Friday, I think you should see him."

_For what?_ "What does he do?" Johnny asks instead, a little curious. He knows there's buskers all around downtown at night, especially on weekends, but Johnny hasn't had the time nor the interest to go see them. He fails to see the connection to their previous conversation.

"He dances," Taeyong shrugs with shining eyes, "Don't you think it would help to see another artist in action?"

Johnny blinks. "Maybe. I don't know."

Taeyong gives him a onceover, "It doesn't look like you're busy today. You wandered into my shop, after all."

Johnny coughs into his hand, "Maybe I just wanted a flower."

"Well, there it is then. I think it's a good idea."

"Madison and Kenzie?"

Taeyong's just a stranger with pink hair and a dusted nose, with bright eyes and dirt on his apron, Johnny is somehow compelled to listen to him, a Pied Piper.

Maybe he thinks there's got to be something wise about a man who spends his days surrounded by flowers. Maybe not. But what does Johnny know?

"I should buy something." He looks around, there's so many flowers, so many colors and shapes he wouldn't even know when to start.

"Tell you what," Taeyong grins, walking past him and towards a bucket of yellow flowers. Johnny doesn't recognize them, but they're small and fragile and extremely vibrant. "Take these little ones and give them to Ten. He's always asking for some, but I never have time to bring them over."

Johnny looks down at the yellow bouquet before nodding, tightening the strap of his violin case and taking the flowers. "What are these?"

"Alstroemerias. They mean friendship."

"Alstroemerias," he repeats, still staring curiously at the petals, then, he nods, "I can take them."

"I know you can," Taeyong smiles, walking back to the counter. "Just make sure to hurry up, the buskers aren't there all night."

"Thank you, Taeyong," he gives him a shy but honest smile, "For putting up with me, I guess."

"No worries. It comes with the job," he winks at him.

Johnny turns to the door, hands on the handle and zipping up his jacket before going back to the cold winds of the city, "Wait. Johnny," Taeyong calls out, running over to him, "Here, take this one. This one's for you.” He hands him a single flower _—_ with gradient shades of purple and sturdy petals. “Good luck. In whatever you decide to do. And don't eat the flower, I’m pretty sure it’s poisonous if ingested.”

"What does this one mean?" He looks at the little one with caution, the frail stem in between his fingers.

Taeyong shrugs, mirthful laugh as he turns back to the counter, "I have no idea,"

Johnny doesn't know it, but Taeyong gifts him a single hellebore flower.

Of course, this means nothing to him but an act of good faith. Taeyong seems to be one who does such things.

"Thank you," he says again, opening the door, the winds sending a shiver down his spine.

The sun has now set, the streets, although dark, seem to have doubled with people, the streetlights lighting up the asphalt paths of Chicago. He can't even pocket his own hands, seeing as he's busy carrying the bouquet of alstroemerias.

Johnny sighs, starting the trek to Madison Street; it is not far from where he is, he knows the way like he knows every street, so it does not take long for Johnny to find the busy street, with crowds of people in every corner, laughing and eating.

He can hear the street performers Taeyong promised: there’s a girl loudly singing a Celine Dion song a few paces from him, easily having the biggest crowd. There’s also a group of men dancing to a popular song he's heard on the radio, and there's even a puppeteer putting on a funny show, children forming a circle around him. Johnny gets a little curious about each of the performers, but he keeps on walking till the end of the street, doing what he promised Taeyong he would do.

As he walks, he can already see the crowd surrounding a dancer. Johnny realizes he was wrong; it is not the singing girl that has the biggest crowd, it is, without a doubt, this guy who has everyone watching his every move. As he closes in, Johnny has to fight his way into the crowd. It helps that he's taller than most people, but he thinks his violin case accidentally pushing people out of the way is useful too.

"Sorry," he smiles as he hits a woman as he finally reaches the front. Thinking he might be a nuisance to everyone behind him, Johnny settles on one of the steps, sitting down.

The music is something loud and, while Johnny can't pinpoint with precision, he knows it's a familiar song that has been playing everywhere. He doesn't listen much to mainstream music _—_ not because he dislikes it, but because if he has enough free time to leisurely listen to music, Johnny would rather spend it listening to classical. Still, he likes the rhythm this one has, an upbeat loud tempo and he can't help but bob his head to it.

And then he sees him.

A small, lithe boy clad in black. If Johnny thought the song was upbeat then he has no words for the dancer in front of him. He moves with ease, each of his limbs moving to every sound the song makes, his legs twist and slide, his arms fly everywhere and his face _—_ his face commands attention. The boy's eyes are sharp, fierce. Johnny has a hard time catching his breath. Who is this person? Why is he dancing in the middle of the street? _For free?_

He'd like to say the song is leading the dancer, but that would be a lie. Ten is the music, he _is_ the sole beat, the melody, the lyrics. The song is just trying to catch up, and it does so barely.

"What the fuck," he says under his breath, hypnotized by the spectacle in front of him. No wonder he has the most people watching him, he is a whole show by himself. And despite that, Ten looks at no one, his burning eyes only look ahead, fiery.

Johnny loses himself in the performance, too absorbed in it and when the music finally stops, it's like a bucket of ice cold water. He shakes his head, almost forgetting to clap along with everyone else.

Ten stands in the middle, his serious face instantly _—_ almost scarily so _—_ breaks into a bright smile, eyes shining, breath heaving. He bows a few times before collecting a hat full of coins and bills. Johnny is truthfully impressed. Most of the crowd disperses in seconds, but he sees a few strangers walk up to Ten so Johnny decides to wait, still sitting down on the stone stairs. He kind of understands why Taeyong wanted Johnny to see Ten _—_ he's a master in what he does. Not that Johnny knows the least bit about dancing, but he doesn't need to. You can't fake passion, you can't fake what Ten possesses.

When the last of the giggling girls leave and Ten turns to pack, Johnny steps forward without much thinking, legs striding towards the dancer.

"Ten. Right?" he asks. Ten turns around. He has to look up at Johnny, their height difference evident.

"Yes," it comes out more as a question than a reply.

"I _—_ " he realizes how weird he must look to Ten. "Here." He stretches his arms, handing him the yellow bouquet.

"Oh, my," Ten grins slyly, taking the flowers, "You must be a fan."

Johnny grows red in the face. He turns his head to see if anyone else is looking at their interaction, but it seems they're now alone. "They're from Taeyong," he starts. "He said you wanted some."

"Oh," Ten sighs, "You're a friend of his? Or are you a delivery boy?"

"I'm Johnny and _—_ I’m neither. I don't think so. Or both, maybe."

Ten raises his eyebrows in question.

Johnny explains, "He wanted me to see you dance so I came here."

"He asked you to come see me?”

"I like your dancing. You have a spark," he says instead. He remembers his first violin teacher saying that to his mother after a few lessons, the word sticking with him for years. A spark. That's what Ten has, an undeniable spark, "I think Taeyong wanted me to see that."

"Huh." Ten smiles again, his cheeks squishing up. "I like that word. A spark. So poetic."

"Don't make fun of me," Johnny retorts as Ten turns around, placing the flowers on a stool next to him before going back to his amp.

"I wasn't," he reassures him, "Well, only a little. But I do like it."

Johnny lets silence settle between them for a few minutes, he thinks perhaps this is his cue to leave but Ten speaks up again. "Are you a music student?"

He shakes his head, "Uh. Not really. Are you?"

"Yes," Ten nods, "Performing arts. This is a side job. Money, you know? And it's fun, serves as practice.”

"I can see that," he replies. Ten is done packing and turns around, looking at Johnny in curiosity. "Then..."

"I play the violin."

"Fancy!"

"At the Symphony Center."

" _Fucking_ fancy." Ten gasps, "Color me impressed."

He shakes his head. Johnny's hands get fidgety, one of them still holding on to his hellebore. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"How do you feel?"

"Right now? Cold. Kinda horny too if I’m honest but this happens after I get worked up from busking."

"When you're _dancing._ "

"Oh... well," Ten pauses, hand going to his chin. He stays silent for a few minutes and Johnny realizes he's taking the question seriously. He looks up at him, then finally says, "Like I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing."

Johnny doesn't reply. Ten continues, "I _—_ I have a lot of worries. School, bills, family. But none of that really matters once I start dancing. I can forget everything else because no matter what, I know I'm meant to be dancing." Ten’s eyes shine bright as he speaks, sight faraway and a glimpse of a grin growing. He turns to look at Johnny, smile turning into a pout.

"Are you gonna make fun of me now?"

He knows what Ten is talking about, Johnny knows that sentiment too well. The stage, no matter the song, no matter the audience, is his home. It doesn't matter if he’s in front of three people or one hundred, or if he’s playing for his family or the music director, it's all the same if he has his violin with him. He can imagine it's the same for Ten, and instead of a violin, he has his body _—_ but the music remains the same for them both.

“No,” he says seriously and pauses, then smiles, “Hey, are you here every Friday?”

༄

He lets out a puff of air from within his stomach. Johnny Seo does not get nervous. He hasn’t since he was fourteen, when violin recitals and competitions were an occurrence of every weekend. He’s grown too numb to the exhilaration, he supposes.

So then, what is this feeling in his stomach, dull but thrumming deep within him? Is he - are these symptoms of being nervous?

“You good?” Jaehyun asks from the other side of the room. He’s playing a few mindless notes, not looking nervous in the slightest, as is usual with him.

“Sure,” Johnny replies, “I had fun last night.”

“Yeah? Doing what?”

Johnny rolls his eyes, “Overthinking.”

“Nice.”

“Listen,” the piano notes stop, leaving the room echoing in silence, “You’re going to be fine, Johnny. I don’t know if today or not, but soon. Because you’re Johnny Seo, ok? Greatest violin player I’ve ever known.”

“I’m going to tell Doyoung you said that.”

“He won’t believe you.”

Johnny smiles at his friend, “Thank you, Jaehyun.” He thinks back to Taeyong’s hopeful eyes and the purple flower he gave him yesterday night. “I think I’ll start believing that too.”

Jaehyun excuses himself, his suit crisp and tidy, their absolute best pianist.

Johnny looks down at his own instrument, an old friend that’s been with him since he joined the symphony a few years ago. He sighs. “I’m sorry. I should be playing you better, you deserve it, you expensive piece of wooden shit.”

“You still talk to your violin,” it’s not a question, it’s a mocking statement. Johnny doesn’t have to look at the threshold to see who has arrived in the waiting room.

“None of your business, really,” he looks at Doyoung. Unlike Jaehyun, who is donned in black from head to toe in an expensive suit, Doyoung only wears a white button-up and black trousers. That, he has in common with Johnny. Neither of them have ever been fans of suits and ties.

“You used to do that when we were young too,” he muses, violin in hand, sitting in the chair farthest away from Johnny. “You just - started cooing at it as if it was a dog. Didn’t you give it a name as well?”

_Byul._ “I did not.” Johnny crosses his arms. He can’t believe Doyoung remembers such things, it’s been so long. 

He can’t blame him, really, looking back on it, those music camp summers were some of the best memories Johnny has of growing up. Sure, they were tedious, the instructors too strict, full of snotty Korean kids who thought themselves better than everyone. Doyoung sure was one of them. But it was also nice, he made friends, he made memories, he learned _so much—_ he made a best friend.

“Do you remember,” Doyoung looks down at his own violin, “When you taught me that one lame song with the easy double stops? The one in English.”

Johnny snorts, he knows what Doyoung is talking about as soon as he says it, he raises his eyebrow, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”

“Yeah,” Doyoung nods, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face. “I thought - Back then I really thought that was the greatest piece to play. Easy _as fuck,_ but hell, was it fun.”

Growing up as a violinist in the US meant Johnny knew that song like the back of his hand, always being asked to play it as a fun show tune to entertain. He, like many other violinists, had grown to absolutely hate it, but, looking back on it, he hadn’t played anything as mindless and fun as The Devil Went Down to Georgia in years. He remembers teaching it to Doyoung during one of their rare campfire outings. Doyoung, who back then was short and scrawny with a mouth full of braces, had eagerly learned it, finding it hilarious—he even managed to fumble his way through the English lyrics, dueting with Johnny every time they had the chance.

Johnny almost wants to laugh, how good and joyful were those times to them. They weren’t carefree, god knows he never really led a carefree life, and he knows Doyoung didn’t either, but they were _good_. He wouldn’t trade places with teenage Johnny, he has grown and lived and achieved many things as a violinist but _—_ maybe, perhaps for a second _—_

The fast, shrill noise of a violin breaks him out of his reverie, loud and irreverent and _familiar._

Johnny whips his head up, eyes wide. Doyoung’s up, his left leg atop a chair, looking ridiculous. He looks back at Johnny, unblinking, before shrugging, the fingers never leaving the fiddle, his smile growing devilish.

The music, so enticing and wild, make Johnny’s smile grow as big as Doyoung’s, his hands going up to his own instrument before he even knows what he’s doing and _—_

“ _The devil went down to Georgia, he was lookin' for a soul to steal. He was in a bind, ‘cus he was way behind and he was willing to make a deal._ ” Doyoung starts with a boom, the starting line familiar to Johnny’s ears.

Johnny wants to laugh at the whole ordeal, but somehow, he manages to keep in character, walking up to Doyoung with violin in hand. “ _My name's Johnny, and it might be a sin, but I'll take your bet and you're gonna regret cause I'm the best there's ever been._ ”

Johnny plays like his hand can’t stop; it’s true, it’s an easy song for professional players like them but hell if it isn’t fun. He throws his head back, somehow his limbs moving along with muscle memory. He plays his heart out for the silly little tune, adding swanky spiccatos here and there, showing off his improvisation just because he can. And suddenly Johnny feels seventeen again, young and blooming, a little afraid of the future but diving head straight into it, fearless. Doyoung isn’t his twenty-four year old rival, he’s just a boy with the same dreams Johnny has, his friend whom he always looks forward to seeing every summer.

He strings out the last note, finishing with cartoonish flair. He stays quiet for a moment before saying into the otherwise silent room, “God, we’re so good.”

Doyoung looks at his violin with wide eyes, then back at Johnny before doubling in laughter, “I can’t believe you still remember it.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think I would.” He grins back. He wants to say something else, but right now he has no words, his mind still reeling from the impromptu performance.

“Listen, Johnny—”

“Doyoung!” Jaehyun barges into the room, “We’re on in five, what are you doing?”

“Fuck,” Doyoung hisses, looking at the wall clock, “Damn, thanks for this Johnny.” He’s back to his sarcastic self, Johnny doesn’t mind it right now, laughing at the way Jaehyun and Doyoung scramble to put his violin back into the case.

“Good luck guys,” he wiggles his fingers at them, playful. Jaehyun sighs before running off out of the room. “Doyoung,” Johnny calls out before Doyoung can do the same.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow, impatient. “Uh,” Johnny looks at everywhere but him, “Dance of the Goblins is a great song. They’re going to love it.”

A beat of silence. “I know,” Doyoung smiles, an arrogance that’s truly admirable. “And. Ysaye’s Sonata… that’s a masterpiece. You’re gonna kill it. Because. Well. You’re Johnny Seo, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t wait for a reply, he runs off, case in hand but his words stay with Johnny. He’s Johnny Seo.

Johnny smiles, the grip on his violin eases.

He follows along the hallway that leads to the theatre, where the orchestra has started their concert. Doyoung's and Johnny’s solos, along with a few others, are the ending performances.

When he’s able to stand near the edge of the stage and peek out at the musicians, Doyoung is already in place. Jaehyun, in his piano, sits a little behind him.

Dance of the Goblins is a fine song, not many people can play it perfectly and to a tee. In the virtuoso hands of Kim Doyoung and Jung Jaehyun, however, it goes above and beyond a fine song. It’s a show, a whole spectacle of just two people.

Jaehyun, always trusty on the piano, never misses a single beat. Johnny knows how much they’ve practiced this together; he wouldn’t expect anything less, the both of them always so perfectly in sync with each other, the piano and violin mixing together to create a wonderful song.

In the spotlight, Doyoung commands, with every note and string, the bow like a sharp sword that he holds in his hand. Each note jumpy and fast in _Quasi Presto,_ playful and full of mischief. And Doyoung, so effortless, barely breaking out a sweat, fully concentrated on the violin in his hands, not seeing the audience that watches on enchanted and mesmerized, hanging on to every note he plays, not wanting to miss a thing.

And when the song ends in unison, the audience breaks into the familiar sound of applause.

Johnny claps along, honest, always amazed by passion and will.

Soon, however, he exhales, his palms grow sweaty. Johnny’s next.

༄

A low, ominous note resounds across the stage, silence deafening.

Johnny starts his song perfectly to everyone else’s ears. In his, he wants to start over, maybe re-do that legato in the beginning, maybe exaggerate the tremolo. He can’t though, not right now, it’s too late for that.

He leads the music and continues through the song. Doyoung was right, it’s a weird song, hard to understand or pinpoint where it’s going. But once you find that rhythm, oh, it is sweet, it is dramatic, it is strong. For that, Johnny chose it. He doesn’t want to think too much about it, if the song really reflects any inner conflicts he's going through; he just wanted everyone else to enjoy the song as much as he did, he wanted to show them how beautiful it could be. He’s never wanted to keep the music to himself, he wants everyone to feel it, to feel _him._

The song tempo picks up again before slowing down, it does so a few times for a while. It slows down. Johnny thinks of Taeyong’s flower shop, so out-of-place, so bright even in the winter. Of the smell of dirt and mist, of colorful flowers he’s never seen or heard of before. He wants to visit again, wants to tell Taeyong how the concert went, wants to thank him for lending a listening ear. He’ll definitely buy some flowers this time around, he’ll even ask what each of them mean.

He thinks of Ten’s dancing and Johnny can feel his fingers relax, the grip on his bow smooth and he lets go. Because he’s not following the music, he’s leading it. Johnny’s eyes close, not looking at the audience, a sight of pitch-black owned by the violin’s music.

He thinks of youth, of the Johnny of back then. Of Doyoung and Korea and the smell of summers. He thinks of how far he’s come, of how proud little Johnny would be of him. Of course, there are his music instructors and parents and everyone else who ever wanted him to succeed. But most of all, Johnny understands that he’s doing this for himself, no one else. This is his music, his violin.

The song is reaching a crescendo and Johnny feels the music through his bloodstream. He opens his eyes, high on adrenaline. He must look a little possessed to the audience, his hair flicking, bow arm flinging, rosin specks flying out everywhere. The sound of the bow against the strings are shrill, chaotic, a thunderstorm of sounds—Johnny can’t even recall if he’s playing the music correctly, he can’t think of _anything_ that isn’t the song. His fingers move maniacally, deranged. In a rampage. Nimble. Yes!

This is his song! This is his violin!

Every note, every sound, every feeling pours out of him. He is playing this for himself. Heavenly, hellish, mortal! All the sounds, this is him!

This is Johnny Seo! He is the music!

༄

**Author's Note:**

> _The Hellebore, a flower with different meanings, the flower of anxiety, the flower of poison; the flower of serenity, the flower of tranquility._
> 
> Referenced Music:  
> The Dance of The Goblins, Ferenc Illényi  
> Taki Taki, DJ Snake (Ten Cover)  
> The Devil Went Down to Georgia, The Charlie Daniels Band  
> Ysaye’s Sonata No. 3, Bomsori Kim 
> 
> I definitely recommend listening to these!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you liked the story, kudos and comments are appreciated! And I’m on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ten_taeil) and my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/nakamoon)


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